


All The Mod Cons

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: The captain sends his engineering and security chiefs back to complete an inspection of the future ship. Trip discovers the 31st century might be worth a visit after all.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	All The Mod Cons

**Author's Note:**

> An interlude from the episode "Future Tense". Malcolm comments that "We spent a fair amount of time around that ship" at one stage, and I got to thinking... when was that, and what happened?

In the narrow confines of endless strange dark corridors, the truculent whine of his companion pinged on Commander Charles Tucker the Third’s taut nerves like fingernails down an old-fashioned chalkboard. “What does he want us to look for anyway?” Lieutenant Malcolm Reed grumbled for the third time since dropping through the cockpit hatch, approximately ninety-eight seconds ago. “The last time I checked, we were being hunted by hordes of angry Tholians and Suliban. Wouldn’t it be wise to have the chief engineer and the armoury officer oh, I don’t know, at their posts? What good can we do, crawling around this ridiculous TARDIS from the future?”

“TARDIS?” It wasn’t the first time the dark-haired tactical officer has used the word, but Tucker had been too shaken to find this vastness folded into an insignificant battered capsule in the middle of the compact launch bay to give it much thought before. Somewhere close to his shoulder a very familiar _tsk_ stirred otherwise stagnant air.

“Time machine. _Doctor Who_. Bigger on the inside.”

_Doctor Who._ Okay, he’d heard of that. “Gotcha. Well, maybe the cap’n thinks we’ve got the skills to find something useful down here.”

“What, staggering about blinding each other with torches?” Cautious, clearly still wanting a weapon in place of his flashlight, Reed inched past the senior officer and dissolved into the gloom that swathed everything beyond Tucker’s illuminated puddle. “Hmm, but this _is_ interesting! There’s barely any damage to this door.”

“Some kind of force field?” Tucker felt his heart begin a long, slow slide toward his boots. If there was any kind of E.M. technology aboard, they’d never drag Malcolm off this freaky future ship.

“Could be.” Pique forgotten, Reed was studying the door mechanism with fascination, long fingers hovering mere millimetres over the pad. With a groan Tucker brushed him aside, slapping a flat palm down on the device.

In total silence, the door dissolved.

“Neat,” the engineer approved as he lurched over the threshold.

“From a security perspective, bloody useless. It’ll let anybody in!”

Trip rolled his eyes, remembering too late that the gesture was wasted. “Give them a break, Mal. I’m guessing when the reactor breached it might’ve scrambled their locking mechanisms. Whoa!”

Reed’s yelp echoed his, and as they felt the deck cut away beneath their feet each man grabbed for the nearest solid object to break his fall – the other. Tucker’s head swam alarmingly, but with the lurch in his guts came a sickly-strange sense of familiarity.

The vessel was dissolving. Featureless metallic bulkheads disappeared as if caught in a transporter beam, while the plating beneath his boots turned to marshmallow. When he screwed up his eyes, willing his rolling stomach to settle, he could swear he felt the chill kiss of salt air against his cheek.

“Trip?”

It wasn’t so much the use of his name - uncommon but not ignored on duty - that spooked the Southerner. It was the tone.

Timid. Almost – if it wasn’t potentially life-threatening to even think it where Malcolm Reed was concerned – frightened.

When he opened his eyes, Trip understood.

They were on a basic wooden rowing boat. No rudder, no sails. _No stabilisers_ , he thought grimly when his convulsive movement to embrace the petrified Englishman dipped their raft sharply to starboard. Adrift on an endless, glinting ocean with umber clouds scudding across a scarlet sky. Just like…

“It’s okay buddy, it’s okay. We’re still in the launchbay,” he crooned, tightening his hold as much as he dared without risking another jolt. “It’s a holographic environment, like I told you about on the Xyrillian ship. It’s not real.”

“Feels bloody real to me,” Reed grated into the side of his neck, the rapid flutter of his lashes against the taller man’s jugular eloquent proof of unabated unease. Greatly daring, Trip brushed his lips against the nearest lock of lush dark hair.

“Must’ve picked it out of my mind somehow,” he murmured, forcing his wayward thoughts down another track. “Hold tight. This might get a little bumpy.”

Piece by piece he formed a vision of solid ground in his mind, somewhere warm and inviting, a long way clear of the ocean. “I think it’s working.”

By degrees the recycled air against his face began to soften. The tang of brine in his nostrils sweetened, growing sharp and heady with the scent of home. “Florida,” he breathed.

Exquisitely attuned to his environment even with his face hidden, Reed began to relax. “You think?” he challenged.

“I know.” Air that reeked of oranges, magnolia and a certain humid sensuality. And where else would his mind turn when it needed a safe place?

Immediately he looked, Trip knew both their exact location and the wisp of ancient memory that had brought them there. “Look, Malcolm. Hell, if I didn’t know better I’d swear it’s the real thing!”

In slow motion the lieutenant raised his head off his superior officer’s shoulder, innate curiosity relaxing his sharp-angled features as he took in the unfamiliar scene.

Row upon row of fruit trees groaned under the weight of swollen citrus; soft meadow gave way beneath his feet; and a cloudless sky floated above, a perfect match for the azure of his lover’s eyes. Everywhere, suffusing everything until his head spun, Reed recognised the contrasting, compelling fragrances of sweet-sharp oranges and deep, musky masculinity.

“Impressive,” he observed, pulling back against the circle of Trip’s arms for a better view. “This holographic projector must draw the images directly from the mind. Touch-activated from the door pad, obviously…”

“Malcolm, do you hafta take the mystery out of _everything_?” Trip wanted to savour his surroundings: revel in the sunlight on his face and the pleasant erotic tickle at the back of his mind. Malcolm – well, trust Lieutenant Pragmatic to focus on the mechanics, completely ignoring the magic.

“To think humans will be harnessing mental energy in the future… just imagine the possibilities!”

“Later, okay?” Like a small boy in his daddy’s hold Reed was struggling to get free, eager to explore his new environment. With that insidious itching in his mind and a syrupy, sticky kind of memory uncoiling from his loins, Tucker couldn’t force himself to focus on the bigger picture. “Wanna know why I brought us here?”

“Because it’s home?” The scratch at the back of his best friend’s voice succeeded where the words alone never would. Malcolm stilled, lifting a puzzled gaze to the blond. Trip winked.

“’Cause it was here – right on this exact same spot – that I first kissed a man, Mister Reed. And I’m wondering... what could’ve put that up there in my head for this creepy gizmo to grab a hold of, huh?”

Grey eyes that could swirl from silver to stormcloud and on to unpolished gunmetal in a moment widened in that special, wondering way that never failed to affect Trip’s unruly libido. “I’m not sure I want to know, Commander,” Reed simpered, the coy dip of his lashes a flat denial of the words. The air, already sultry, heated further with a liquid chuckle.

“Ah’m thinkin’ it’s because Ah’m holdin’ a man who always makes me think of kissin’,” Trip whispered close to the smaller man’s ear, as if the confession was as sinful as its effect on Malcolm’s cock. “And maybe this fancy piece of future tech’s telling me I should just… go with the flow.”

“Don’t you always?” The temptation – starting somewhere well south of the midriff, the imp in Malcolm couldn’t help but notice – was growing, spreading like warm honey under his skin, but the professional in him demurred. “We’re supposed to be on duty…”

“I don’t see no Starfleet badges here.”

“Except the ones on our sleeves.”

“It’s not your sleeve I’m lookin’ at.”

Which was, Reed considered, probably just as well, since the fiery stare slowly burning up his face would surely have seared right through the robust fabric. Malcolm sucked in a breath. Damped his lips. Prepared to argue.

And had the words stopped against a single fingertip, lovingly massaging the thin, well-shaped pink rims to plumpness. “Blame the future,” Trip breathed, leaning in to replace the digit with his tongue. A soft whimper bled between them. 

Time slowed to a standstill. 

“’s good, darlin’.” Slurred and slack around the jaw Tucker tried, much too late, to pull back, vaguely aware of a softening to the solid forms around him. Burrowing into the hollow at the base of the bigger man’s throat Reed began to lap in earnest, each feathery flick unleashing a shower of sparks beneath the golden-tanned skin. His hips rolled through a gentle undulation, increasing the erotic friction as layers of cloth rasped between their hardening flesh. Midsummer back home, Trip reflected muzzily, never got hotter than this.

“What– oh! – was his name?”

Bewildered by the feel of the man against him it Trip took an embarrassing minute to remember. “Brad,” he tried, not certain until he had the taste of the word on his tongue. “This was his daddy’s fruit farm. He used t’ pay extra hands in the pickin’ season and one day I – we… dammit Malcolm, I can’t _think_ when you’re doin' that!”

“Then don’t.” Perhaps it was the heady fragrance of all that ripe, succulent fruit. Maybe the wicked liberation of being on duty, in uniform, with no starship in sight was making him reckless. Whatever it was, Reed liked it. Very deliberately he twisted his neck and took a firm nip at his lover’s jugular, bracing against the inevitable reaction.

“Uuuhhh!” Kneecaps melted, Trip threw back his head and groaned his delight to the whole of Florida: or the ship; or whoever the hell wanted, to hear. 

When the initial buzz began to fade and his glassy eyes refocussed, he discovered Florida was no longer there.

Instead, he was floating amid wisps of pastel and shimmering gold. “Wow,” breathed.

“Mmmm, that’s a new one.” The sensation of Malcolm humming at the base of his throat caused a comet-flare close by and when the Englishman shifted, butting his swollen shaft right into Trip’s groin, the pretty pinkish hues turned blood-red. Cupping his hand, Tucker guided his lover by the cheek, acutely aware of the twitch of tiny muscles beneath velvety skin as the brunet’s expression changed. “Different,” he deadpanned.

“Eternity.” The vista was fading, the edges giving way to the harsh reality of a futuristic space pod and he didn’t want that, couldn’t bear to lose the magic of this moment. “’s what kissin’ you feels like, Malcolm. Like forever.”

Up on his toes, the smaller man responded with wordless eloquence and, unseen by either man the clouds of colour around darkened, moving faster, pulsing in response to each wave of pleasure through the Southerner’s open mind. Tearing his bruised mouth free with a painful effort, Malcolm quirked a positively wicked half-smile at his bedazzled partner.

“How very _esoteric_ ,” he flirted, taking advantage of Tucker’s distraction to get a hand inside his jumpsuit’s collar and, painfully slowly, ease the zipper down. Deftly he popped the nearest shirt button, opening a gap wide enough to tweak one nipple through the last cotton barrier. Trip whimpered, his involuntary pelvic thrust sending ripples through both men. “I expected something a little more… direct.”

“’m a direct kinda guy,” Tucker conceded, proving the point by divesting his lover of his unwanted uniform at maximum warp. Reed managed a strangled laugh, climbing the vocal scale when a leathery hand closed around his aching shaft.

The world beyond their haven was forgotten as he arched into that skilful touch, revelling in the sweet-strong pulses of delight its motion triggered through his body. His eyelids felt heavy, his chest tight, every muscle contracting with the same delicious tension. Captivated by the changes within, Malcolm entirely missed the wonder Trip experienced unfolding around them.

Eternity melted: mutated. Lush amber light began to flicker, chasing shadows down the Englishman’s creamy flesh. The air grew warm and sticky with intoxicating aromas of incense and musk. And right in front of him, close to a roaring open fire, stood the biggest, most inviting bed Trip Tucker had ever seen.

_Direct_. Yes, seemed like he could handle the direct route he thought, swooping in low and hard to scoop his befuddled man into his arms before Reed could gather enough wits to object and dropping him deep into the middle of heaped covers of satin, velvet and fur. “Oooh, lovely,” the Brit exhaled, testing them all with a positively licentious top-to-toe stretch. Trip swallowed hard.

He’d always accepted his out-of-control hedonistic streak, never expecting to find a lover who could match it. Now he definitely had, and watching Malcolm burrow into the pile of sensuous fabric and down, eyes half-closed and a snarl of erotic bliss curling his fine-drawn mouth, turned him on so completely he couldn’t move.

He could, much to his delighted surprise, still think.

The firelight blazed stronger, deepening each skittering shadow as it chased over creamy British skin. Malcolm writhed, shamelessly caressing his sumptuous blankets, his delight in the change between cool black silk and deep ermine pelt against his skin expressed in a torrent of whimpers and mewls. Even as Trip watched, frozen with need and loving every tortuous moment, thick red velvet drapes formed to tumble down the sides of the enormous bed. “Hot damn,” he breathed. “Ah’m more imaginative than Ah thought!”

“Mmmm, I’ve never found you lacking.” The cascading velvet grazed Reed’s arm and Trip watched enthralled as goosflesh prickled in its wake. Feet braced, Malcolm raised his hips off the bed in blatant invitation, tongue peeking out to wet his pretty, kiss-bruised lips. “In any department.”

“’s good to know.” Screw his unconsciously constructed boudoir. All Trip could see was the raw beauty of his mate in carnal abandon, lavishing caresses on the opulence that embraced him and proving again that, beneath his starched façade, Malcolm Reed hid a sensual streak twice the width of the Great Belt. Even the man who knew him best rarely saw it so brazenly displayed, and it took his breath away.

Reed crooked a finger. As if he were a puppeteer pulling Tucker’s strings the blond’s ability to move was restored.

He tumbled forward, dimly conscious of the sigh of bedding beneath his weight and the slip and tickle of a dozen different materials on his flanks. When Malcolm rolled, effortlessly trapping his burlier lover in the depths of their erotic nest, he had no strength to resist.

“Ooohhh, gorgeous,” Reed growled, his attention on the man rather than their seductive surroundings. Tucker stretched an arm, vainly seeking contact, only to have his wrist captured in a firm grip, his fingers being sucked hard into the wet depths of the Englishman’s busy mouth.

“Oh, yeah.” Ticklish down and slippery satin shifted beneath his butt. Static shocks ripped through every finger from the deft flicks of that wickedly clever tongue. Trip couldn’t hold still, arching and writhing, aware of every contact point and desperately needing more. His cock pulsed hard, pushing itself urgently into Malcolm’s hip as the Brit knelt beside him, dancing the briefest touches over torso, belly and thighs. His head spun, focus deserting him until something tight clenched around his fingers, and he realised – not for the first time – he’d been had.

Malcolm’s asshole twitched around his index finger, his gratified moan singing off the drapes that enclosed them when Tucker got the message and started moving it, twisting and prodding until he hit the tiny bundle of nerves guaranteed to send any man into orbit. Feeling the gibberish bubbling out of the Brit’s mouth strike his skin like a shrapnel-spatter Trip rubbed over it again and again, swept by a rush of astonished pride that he could make the icily controlled security chief burn this way.

“No… oh God Trip stop… too much!” The small burst of coherence drained Reed and he collapsed at his lover’s side, breathing hard. Tucker just had time to stretch a hand, tangle the splayed fingers deep in thick chocolate hair before Malcolm moved again, lithe as a salmon in turning to swallow down the fullness of the Southerner’s cock.

“Uuuhhh!”

Molten sensation coursed out from the captive member, and unconsciously Trip began to roll and squirm, guided by the wet pressure of Reed’s mouth moving up and down, tongue slapping and teeth scraping the white-hot staff as he worked. He was almost there, so close the stars were starting to pop inside his head, when the flexible warmth was removed.

“Mal…”

“Ssshhhh.” The pacifier lengthened into a blissful sigh that only ended when Reed was firmly seated, the length of his partner embedded within his quivering body. “Oh, Trip!”

“Oh, yeah.” The pressure around his penis matched that inside his skull, finally blotting everything from Tucker’s consciousness beyond the otherworldly beauty of the man noisily savouring his penetration. No thought process was necessary to start the lazy undulation of his hips in time with Reed’s first few rise-and-falls motions. His fingers splayed, linking naturally with the Brit’s as Malcolm reached for a familiar connection. Slow, satisfied smiles uncurled over each handsome face.

Around them, superheated plasma pulsed and broiled, hot jets arcing through the vast blackness of space. Eyes wide open, Trip saw none of it, his focus narrowed to the man pleasuring himself more and more with each relentless plunge onto his rigid cock.

Liquid magma oozed through his veins. Deep down at the base of his skull there was a repetitive thud that Tucker vaguely identified as his own racing heartbeat. Desperate now, Malcolm dragged their linked hands to his aching erection, a feral growl breaking loose at the firm pressure of sweaty palms against burning flesh. “C’mon, Malcolm,” Trip panted, so close to the edge and determined not to go over it alone. “Let go.”

It was too much: the heady combination of intimate friction and rough, erotic plea. In the instant Malcolm convulsed into pure bliss Trip Tucker saw the universe break apart.

A billion stars were born and died in the moment it took for his climax to break, hot and hard. Every muscle and sinew pulled tight, then twanged through a spasm of release so intense it overwhelmed him. For the first time in his life, Trip Tucker passed out from pure ecstasy.

When he came to, it was to the familiar sensation of long fingers dancing through his chest hair and the very unfamiliar sight of a star field passing at a range of millimetres. Multi-coloured whorls of nebula gas drifted; and somewhere – probably where a bulkhead should be – a white dwarf emitted its strange ethereal glow. “Well I’ll be damned,” he murmured, no longer surprised by the roughened edge to his post-orgasmic chuckle. “The future can put on quite a show!”

“Mmmm.” Languorously stretching, Malcolm considered the endless vista for a moment before pulling himself up to a sitting position and swatting off his lover’s wandering hands. “Maybe you’d consider accepting that offer now, if ever Daniels made it?”

“Maybe I’ll just strip this baby bare before we send it back where it came from.” The scene was shifting, starting to blur around the edges. “Now how d’ you think we get outta here?”

“By deciding to, I hope.” The system had tapped into Tucker’s mind first. To Reed it seemed logical the great Southern lummox would be the one to find an _OFF_ switch. “And darling, _please_ do it quickly! I’d hate to have to search this whole bloody star system for two pairs of Starfleet knickers!”


End file.
